


Lurking Shadows

by ThatDarnLakeSiren



Category: Gravity Falls, That Weird place in my Brain that Creates all this Weird but Interesting Stuff for Others to See.
Genre: And more magic, And they're not ghosts neither, Family Feels and Fluffs, Flashbacks and Realizations, Friendship, Just read on to find out, Magic, Monster Falls AU, Monster Falls Au My Way, Monster-Related Feels and Fluffs, Near Death Experiences, Several People have died already by now, Some are sorta dead but not really, Some blood and gore, Still working out the Ending, That Aren't Really, Weird Magical Streams, friendly demons, mild body horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-05
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 06:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4735886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDarnLakeSiren/pseuds/ThatDarnLakeSiren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ford stared at him long and hard. He couldn't help the glance down at the crying creature he held at gunpoint. A very rare specimen indeed, but he could guess the price for trying to further hurt or kill him easily; either his own life or Stanley's. His paranoia climbing higher, he decided on what the gargoyle had used prior; aggression.</p><p>"And if I don't let him go?" Ford countered edgily, paranoia clear.</p><p>The gargoyle seemed caught off guard by this; startled. He looked about, thoughts visibly scrambling for an answer or threat. "Do you really want to know?" he growled menacingly, the inhuman voice back, wings spreading out to make him look bigger, a clawed hand moving dangerously close to Stanley's face. Stanley flinched away, the claws following. If he tried to struggle now, he'd get himself scratched for sure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. (Not) Empty Battlefield

**Author's Note:**

> des·o·la·tion
> 
> ˌdesəˈlāSH(ə)n/
> 
> noun
> 
> 1\. a state of complete emptiness or destruction.
> 
> 2\. anguished misery or loneliness.

 Desolation.

That's what he awoke too. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened, but all he knew was that it looked like everyone he cared for was gone. In the darkening shadows of sunset, he slowly stood and checked himself over for injury. He had none, but when he started looking around the battlefield, he felt his brow furrow in confusion, ears pinning back as dread began to turn his stomach to knots.

In the large meadow he awoke in, he was surrounded by statues. There had to be ten or so of them. He was near the outskirts of them, but as he slowly moved towards the center, his wings hiked up higher on his back, tail curling closer to his ankles in fear and self defense.

Something was wrong here. Dreadfully so. He could feel life around him, sense it with his own life force keenly inside, but nothing moved. His acute hearing couldn't detect any breathing, not even when he strained, but there was nothing dead, either; he could smell no death, no blood, nothing. Well, not  _nothing_ , per-say.

Just stone and the lingering scents of adrenaline, fear, sweat and a little blood; long since dried, and with his acute senses, it could easily have been from a scrape or nick of accidental claws or a busted lip.

As he started looking up at the faces of the statues, the nearest few, that seemed to be fighting something . . . his heart froze and stuttered.

Vanessa . . . it was Vanessa Grey! Body frozen, his eyes numbly looked her up and down. Long, graceful, strong legs of a horse, human face twisted into a sharp shout of rage as she galloped towards the center of the meadow, where a heavier contingent of statues stood, a hand held in front of her, reaching out, hair frozen fluttering, streaming out behind her like her long, strangely unbraided horse tail . . . .

. . .all in grey stone.

A brave, tall, loyal creature, a young woman, a young horse, a  _Centaur_ ; with hopes and dreams and a future husband. The lad slowly walked up to her. Reached up as high as he could, just managing to lay a hand on her horse chest, not quite reaching the sweater'ed human one. There was no heartbeat pulsing inside, no breath. And yet . . . .

. . . .and yet he could still sense the life underneath, trapped just behind the stone, unable to break free, as he could. He could feel it draw back in surprise at his touch, then press back hopefully, a phantom feeling of warmth emanating from the stone, that was otherwise so cold and lifeless.

The emotions emanating from within were hard to pick out. It was a hard mess of energy and fear and stubborn bravery, besides terror, horror, some panic, and fierce, hot anger for whoever did this. The last one was almost drowned by the rest, but noticeable all the same. And pain . . . pain from a bleeding gash in her right shoulder, a bitemark on her flank . . . .

. . . _snake_ -bitten. He could sense the sluggishness that had already started to overtake her, starting to drag her mind towards unconsciousness while the venom seeped through every vein to her lungs, Forcing her breaths shorter and fewer between, slowly suffocating . . .

He drew back, shaking his head in numb horror. He looked where his friend was looking, spotted her own best friend and future husband, laying not ten feet away.

Timothy Goodwing. The smart, strong Griffin, was on his back, large eagle head turned towards his right flank, beak wide in a silent cry of pain, a stone arrow frozen in one joint, where wing met shoulder blades. The position looked unnatural, as if he had been in midflight, struck just before whatever strange magic had turned him to stone, leaving him to fall, never ready to land, frozen forever in . . . .

The deep gouge in the earth only seemed to mock the Griffin that lay in it, had created it, only able to create such a wide swath of destruction as a stone creature, one frozen. To the boy, everything about this was wrong. He could feel it, deep in his bones; well, he wasn't sure if he  _had_  bones, but deep down inside. . . .

Stepping forward, the ten-year-old gently lay a hand on Timothy's flank, feeling the same thing; seemingly cold, lifeless grey stone, but with the soul-energy pulsing just underneath. Rather than draw back in surprise, it surged angrily,  _painfully_ , against it's stony prison. Not towards the young gargoyle, but towards what had done this to him, trying to tell the young gargoyle to be wary, cautious, urging him to find a way to reverse this, or if not, destroy what did this. Begging, almost . . . .

No wait . . . he  _was_ , hard as is was to see the proud Griffin beg for anything.

Begging to be freed; freed from the agony in his wing, freed the fear of being ground-bound when he belonged and ruled in the skies, but hiding it under a burning anger; but even such hot flames could drown out the deep-felt, resonating despair from deep inside, the injured moan of a lame bird, never to fly, of an injured lion, to lay alone on the ground and starve, withering away into nothing, but in solitude; dreading the solitude of it all.

All rolled together with very human panic and fear, desperation and the faint remaints of hope, barely holding on. The boy shuddered, hard, wings shaking. He winced from his own wound, on his own wing, and for a moment, leaned into the touch on the stone creature, sharing it's pain in a different way, but shared all the same.

The life-force inside responded, surprisingly, almost setting down it's own burdens for a moment. He felt a flicker of surprise from the creature he barely knew before, who never knew how he had suffered several long nights, almost a full year, before a remedy was found. Before he could function like a normal little boy, free of physical pain, if not the memories of how he started suffering.

The flicker of emotion turned to anger towards who started it; longing to take back taunts and jibes about gliding and wobbly flight; place more gentleness into playfights; more caution into mentioning family in conversation. It brought a tiny, hopeful smile to the boys face. The flicker of emotion seemed to mirror his hope, before a fierce bolt of determination and self-righteous anger burst from inside.

Tired, it seemed to recede to a steady but slighter fainter pulse beneath his palm and fingertips; alive and there, but asleep. Turning to the cluster in the center, he slowly stepped forward, breaths coming quicker. There was a deep, underlying tension in the air, something he couldn't quite lay his clawed finger on. Something terrible had happened, he just knew it . . . he wasn't sure he wanted to find out what happened, or what caused it.

But that didn't stop him. Almost as if that anger or determination had seeped into him from his almost-friend, or perhaps he just had to know the extant of the damage, he couldn't stop. He tried to be brave, but courage almost seemed to evade him, not allowing him to feel it's might. Maybe might wan't needed; maybe gentleness now was the key, not more violence.

He shook his head and walked on.

As he grew closer, he could pick out more and more faces. A large, serpentine figure, it's tail snaking and writhing across the ground, but human from the waist-up with snakes for hair, appeared to be frozen in the act of lunging forward or rearing back; he couldn't tell which. All he knew was, that along the length of the very long tail, another Centaur was trapped; upon looking closer, though, the unnatural angle it was at and the way he was being held . . . .

He'd been turned to stone already. Looking even closer, standing on tiptoes, he realized that there were some similarities about that young face, one he hadn't seen before. Something about the way he held himself, even in a frozen state; chin held up high and a bit of a smirk on his lips, though his brows revealed he was troubled . . . with a jolt, he realized that he was like Miss Northwest, the elder Centaur in the group.

With a jolt, he realized that this must be the son she occasionally talked about, who disappeared years ago. Horror and fear warred inside, and after several long minutes of staring blankly while every possible worst scenario raged through his head, he shook himself. He carried on, tippy-toeing, trembling slightly and straining his ears for any sound.

Holding her down -for the face he could tell it to be a girl on the snake thing- was a normal enough looking man; when you ignored the way his body seemed to be morphing.

Earl Ramirez. A man with a lot at stake, a lot he left behind, and a lot he did in his efforts to find a cure for them all; or, at least, all who  _wanted_  it.

Clay Golem; man made of clay, able to change the shape of his body to anything he wanted; though he typically kept the way he looked as a human years ago. He'd apparently created a large hole in his middle, which the Gorgon -snake lady- was staring through. As he came around to look up at her, he saw her face twisted in rage and fear, a wordless scream frozen on her lips.

He tentatively reached out to touch her; only to recoil and stumble back immediately. Her spirit was crashing against the walls with a violent, killing rage, struggling to break free so as to smash and destroy every last statue of his friends and family, killing them rather than just entrapping them.

He cautiously moved around Earl, and saw a young Cervitaur; like a Centaur, but half deer instead of horse, the males growing antlers -once they'd "come of age"- and all having deer ears rather than human ones, unlike their Centaur "cousins". This one was familiar, small and antler-less, and he felt a sharp pang of sorrow strike him.

He was holding a large mirror, appeared to be diving behind the clay-man, holding it out towards the hole now appearing in his chest. Ears laid back, face twisted in terror and fear and determination all at once . . . .

. . .to see the twelve-year-old, Max Grey, the very youngest of the Grey family residing in their shared home, look so scared . . . .the young child broke into tears, lunging forward to gently hug his friend, stroking lightly just behind the right ear, knowing this as a calming mechanism, from some nerve or other, for all Cervitaurs. He could sense the surprise and fear in the spirit as it yearned and stretched and pushed to reach him, the self-sacrificing act he had done, to save everyone else.

He could feel the minimal hope and comfort he was bringing to his best friend/older brother, but could feel none of it himself. He could feel his friends life force strain to reach out and comfort him, tell him he was alright, to not give up and keep on going, that it would be okay as long as he kept trying.

That as long as he never gave up, everything would turn out all right in the end. That he'd save his friend and everyone else as the young Cervitaur had; a young boy and barely a fawn, had hopefully saved not only his group, but all other creatures threatened by the Gorgon, who he had foolishly looked upon too soon, before she had turned fully to stone.

He could barely recall what happened, but as it slowly came back to him, bit by bit . . . .

. . . .he sobbed all the harder.

* * *

Night had fallen. He wasn't sure when, but the moon floated overhead, and stars created a pretty picture above him in the sky. He'd nearly dozed off when he heard the voice.

"Kaden?" a familiar voice called in surprise and hope.

The lad turned, a sobbing little boy made of stone, large, bat-like wings wrapped tightly around himself, tail curling around his feet and knees pulled to his chest.

He was a gargoyle; he retained a fully human body shape, of an eight-year-old boy, with large, bat-like wings sprouting from his shoulder blades and a tail above his rump, toes and fingers ending in sharp, grey-black claws, a mouth full of sharp teeth, two small, pointed horns poking above his wild gold-orange hair and nearly hiding inhumanly pointed ears.

Made entirely of stone and capable of motion, hardly susceptible to physical attacks while weaker to magical ones. And while he may be even outside of some Gargoyle norms -like being born and growing, rather than an actually enchanted and brought to life statue- he was, in a nutshell, still a little boy. Not meant to fight yet in battle or war.

Kaden turned slowly, large, pure sandy-gold eyes, seeing perfectly in the near-darkness; senses of a gargoyle. He knew no darkness where others were blind.

"Wh-whisper?" he called out in a small, trembling voice.

The other, a human, strayed nearer, holding her arms out in front of her to ensure she wouldn't run into him, having extinguished her light.

"Sh, sh, it's okay, it's all going to be okay now." she ensured, though her voice was trembling, too, as if barely believing her own words. Murmuring under her breath, she summoned a small flame into the middle of her palm; a fire charm, completely harmless and easy to control besides, plus lighting up their surroundings. Why she had blown it out before, Kaden wasn't sure.

Seeing him quickly, she hurried over and dropped to her knees beside him, a twenty-year-old human woman, un-turned as he was, and quickly leaned forward to embrace him. He tentatively returned it, always acutely aware of his immense strength; first turned, he nearly broke his saviors legs in his panic and fear. And she was a human; so delicate, and vulnerable, compared to him, where he could practically drag a young, freshly-killed buck into a tree whereas a human never could alone, nor so high.

"She chased after you . . . you screamed . . . .I wanted to get you out of the battlefield, make sure . . . . but I couldn't . . . ." she had tears in her eyes. Whisper should never have to cry. She was always so sweet and kind, to creatures outside her own species, holding no discrimination over anyone, not just her three siblings. He remembered what she spoke of, and understood why she hadn't; she was to help the wounded back home, not run back and kill herself over trying to rescue another "alive" creature; painful as it had been.

When she pulled back, she seemed to fully notice the young Cervitaur and gasp. She reached out a slow hand -her right, not the one holding the flame- but didn't touch.

"M-max . . . no . . . I th-thought that . . .  _no_  . . ." tears cascaded down her cheeks, and Kaden remained silent until she seemed to pull herself back together. He lay a hand on his friend. Felt the spirit inside pulse in excitement and worry over the older sister he sensed, straining to reach out and hug her, let her knew he was okay. That out of all of them, he was barely injured. A small comfort.

Kaden gently pulled her hand down, until it was on Max's stone flank, too. "He's still alive . . . don't you feel his spirit pulsing underneath?" he asked.

She shook her head slowly, mouthing the word "no" over and over again. "Being a gargoyle . . . did you sense similar in the others?" she asked softly, carefully. . .. . . . _cautiously_ , not wanting to hope to hard, nor to little.

Kaden opened his mouth to reply, then shut it. This wasn't a simple "yes" or "no" answer. "I found Vanessa, and Timothy, and touched the snake-lady, and Max," he finally replied, wincing when he realized that he had just confirmed and shredded a glimmer of hope in the woman's eyes; she lost not one, but  _two_  siblings in this fight.

"Each time felt a little different. The emotions were different, their reactions were different to my touch, but they were all alive. . . ." he paused, sorting through his thoughts.

"Vanessa was in a jumble, but felt surprised to see me. Timothy was raging for justice, as usual, but I felt the griffins despair at being ground-bound, and his urging for me to find a way to help fix all of this. The snake-lady wants to escape, constantly struggling, wishing death and destruction on all . . . and Max sacrificed himself to stop her, and doesn't want us to give up hope. Right now, he wants to comfort you, straining to reach out and hug you."

Whisper stared at him in disbelief, but a glimmer of determined hope lay in her eyes now. "I don't feel anything but stone, but I believe you, Kaden." she said softly, just above a whisper.

The boy nodded in reply. "We'll find . . ." he choked up. "We'll find a way to fix this, I promise." he told her stoutly, with as much conviction as his small, ten-year-old being could.

She nodded and gave him a tear-soaked smile, gently scooping him up. She raised the flame to her mouth and blew it out. She leaned over and placed a hand on her brothers head, gently stroking it.

"Don't worry, little bro . . . I promise, we'll find a way to fix this. No matter how long it takes, I'll make sure to fix this. I'll get you both back . . . you and Vanessa." she said softly, just under a breath of air.

Rising, she hugged the young gargoyle close and started to walk home, knowing the way well.

Leaving behind what was once a happy place, filled now with loved ones, both trapped and shattered.

Leaving behind what was once a peaceful haven, but now it was filled with horror.

Torn. Torn was their family.

Lonely. Lonely were the souls trapped, together yet alone in their own personal prisons, strewn about the field.

Desolate. Desolate was the once-happy meadow. . . .

In all meanings of the word.


	2. First (Unknown) Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small bird with magnificent feathers. A Shapeshifter is about to be sealed up and then released. And a girl who's been "around the block" but has never seen town.
> 
> What's going on here?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really suck at coming up with summaries sometimes. I do my best, though, to hint without giving it all away. Enjoy!

Not terribly long before they went to the Author's secret bunker, Mabel came running in one day shouting about a small little bird she'd found.

"DIPPER! You gotta come and see this, he is so cute!" the sweater-wearing girl shrieked, skidding to a halt outside their bedroom door.

Dipper initially flinched when the door slammed open, then turned. "Mabel? What is it?" he asked, narrowing his eyes in confusion.

She raced over to his bed, holding out cupped hands. "Look at this little bird I found! He's so adorable!" in her hands was a tiny, brightly-colored bird. A hummingbird, with bright blue feathers tinged with white and gold, and a dark purple beak. A very unusual looking thing. One wing was tucked in to it's side, but the other . . . it's right wing was held out at an awkward angle.

It looked up at Dipper with bright, curious eyes, tilting it's head. "Woah!" he exclaimed, leaning in a little closer. "Where did you find it at?" he asked, reaching out slowly to touch it.

"I was walking through the woods near the Shack and she zipped past me. Rammed right into a tree, poor little guy!" the bird made a humming noise and lightly pecked at Mabel with her beak. "So I took him home to help patch him up." Mabel finished, seeming not noticing when the little bird pecked her again, harder.

Dipper tilted his head, gesturing towards the bird. "So, do want some help fixing up it's wing?" he asked. Mabel nodded with a frown, looking back down at it.

Down in the kitchen, Dipper rummaged around for something small and sturdy to make a splint, while Mabel put cotton balls and pieces of brightly colored yarn into a cereal bowl to make a nest, humming and trying to think of a good name for their new "pet".

The little bird made humming noises a lot, or these little tittering sounds that were almost like wind chimes.

Dipper finally sat back at the table. "I couldn't find anything small enough and hard enough to help make a good splint. Sorry, Mabel."

Mabel waved him off. "Oh, don't worry bro-bro. I bet some gauze and tape will be all we need. Right, Joseph?" she asked the bird, holding up the bowl-nest thing it now sat in.

In response to this, "Joseph" tittered angrily, seeming to almost glare at the girl before looking away with a quiet sound, like a sigh.

Dipper chuckled at this. "Uh, Mabel, I think it's actually a she, not a he." he pointed out.

Mabel blew a raspberry at him. "That can't be right!"

"What's with all the shouting?"

Dipper and Mabel turned to see Grunkle Stan in the doorway.

"Well, Mabel found this unusual bird, who she insists is a guy, which I highly doubt at this point,"

"Hey!" Mabel shot back playfully, feigning hurt.

"And it has a broken wing. It's so small, though, that I can't find anything to help make a good splint." Dipper finished.

Stan walked over and looked into the bowl at the little thing. It looked up at Stan in what Dipper could only describe as mopey anticipation.

Stan grunted. "Well, it's a Hummingbird; I think. I don't exactly have feeders hung up, so I don't know why this one would be out this far. Anyway, I think I know something that could help instead." Stan lead Mabel away, who cheered quietly.

The little bird peered over the edge of the nest in something akin to relieved shock. Dipper smacked his forehead. "Why am I super-imposing emotion onto a bird? Jeeze." he mumbled.

The bird shot him a disapproving look, then tried to hop out of the bowl. Dipper held his hands out and stopped her, so she pecked him in return. "Ow! You're pretty riled up."

The little thing tilted it's head, then nodded with a soft cheep. It sounded sorry. Dipper smiled a little and reached out, slower this time. The bird hummed and rubbed it's head against his fingers.

"How 'bout . . . Riley? I'm sure Mabel will approve." Dipper offered. The newly dubbed "Riley" hummed and nodded.

* * *

Not to much later, Dipper, Mabel, Riley, and Soos were standing outside the bunker. They were waiting on Wendy, and had yet to find a way inside.

Dipper gave Mabel a bit of a look. "Mabel, I thought we agreed to leave Riley at home."

Mabel made a face. "Ah, but Dipper!" she protested, petting the tiny thing perched on her shoulder. "Riley needs attention! And she doesn't like being left alone, especially indoors!"

Dipper pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fine! Don't blame me if she freaks out more underground, or get's lost or whatever!" he proclaimed.

Mabel gently clutched the little thing, nodding.

It was soon apparent that Alida not only was enjoying the ride, but found a particular fondness in Wendy, seeming to prefer riding on her shoulders during a lot of the adventure. Besides hiding in Dippers' vest pockets during the scarier bits so the Shapeshifter wouldn't see her.

Overall, she survived the adventure, and didn't seem any worse for wear. Shifting from Wendy to Dipper before the redhead left, she was able to catch a glimpse of the computer from where Dipper held her in cupped hands. It wasn't almost eerie, by that point, how human she acted. Dipper had his theories about it, like how maybe something paranormal or supernatural had caused it, but she was so birdlike, too, in her actions that he said nothing.

* * *

In the aftermath of visiting the bunker, Dipper paged through the journal. The little hummingbird sat perched on his shoulder, watching with clear interest.

"In a few short days, we'll finally figure out who the Author is." he murmured under his breath.

Riley tittered, flapping her uninjured wing. Dipper flinched, the sound loud on his ears. He was beginning to regret allowing Mabel to talk him into "bird-sitting" her pet. He gently lifted her off and set her on the back of the chair.

Someone suddenly knocked on the door, loudly. "Dipper! Go answer the door!" Stan called from the living room.

With a sigh, Dipper tucked the journal away and walked over. He opened the door and stared up in surprise at the person that stood there. She was a tall, stocky teenage girl. Her dark brown hair was messy and thick, hanging into her green-gold eyes and face. She seemed to be wearing animal skins sewed roughly together, wore no shoes, and was acting kinda twitchy, hood pulled up over her head.

After several moments silence, he cleared his throat. "So, uh, what brings you here?" he asked.

The teen flinched, eyes darting back and forth. One hand tugged the hood further down, and she glanced around warily. "Oh, um, well . . . I uh, lost my pet . . . bird. Yes." she replied, the words sounding forced, and herself nervous. Her voice had a certain depth to it; not enough to be mistaken for a boy, but it was rough and a little husky.

"Your bird?" Dipper asked skeptically.

The girl nodded, quickly. "Uh huh. Blue with white and gold, uh, sorta along the edges of the feathers and more clear on the wings and tail. Purple beak, tiny?" she answered, holding her hands out to show the size. "Disappeared a few days ago, got out of her . . . cage." the girl winced on the words.

Dipper eyed her.  _'Nervous body language, eyes darting back and forth, and I don't think I've seen her around before,'_  Dipper thought to himself.  _'What if she's lying? Mabel would be heartbroken that I'd given Riley to a complete stranger!'_

"So, uh, have you seen her? I've been worried sick. Right."

Dipper shrugged. "I dunno. Hey!" he held up his finger when she turned to leave. "You seem parched! Why don't you uh, why don't you come in for a drink?" he offered.

The girl narrowed her eyes, frowning. She rubbed her chin. "I don't know," she replied slowly. "I've uh . . .well, I guess so." she finally answered with a shrug, slowly following him inside.

Dipper watched her out of the corner of his eye. She seemed very nervous after the door shut, jumping at the slightest sound and looking about with distrust clear in her eyes.

"So, I never did catch your name." he mentioned.

She flinched again, standing awkwardly in the kitchen while Dipper grabbed some Pitt soda's. "Oh, ah, Meesha Bear." she replied.

"Nice to meet you. The names Dipper. Catch." he told her, throwing the can her way.

She fumbled and caught it, then held it upside down, examining it. "Um . . . what do I do with this?" she asked uncertainly.

Dipper stared at her. "You've never had Pitt soda?" he asked in disbelief.

"Er, nnnoooo?" Meesha replied.

Dipper sighed and walked over. "Here, let me show you," he held the can out right-side up. When she mirrored him, he cracked the top, and she did so, as well, after a few moments of trying.

"Now what?" the girl asked skeptically.

"You drink it." Dipper replied with an eyeroll, taking a sip.

Meesha looked down at the hole in the metal with a frown. She slowly copied his actions, then sputtered, spitting it out. "Uh, this stuff is weird!" she exclaimed, setting the can on the table.

At that moment, Mabel walked in. "Dipper, have you seen-oh my gosh!" she cut herself off upon seeing the other girl, sprinting over to grab at her hand.

"Hi! My names Mabel! Where did you get these clothes?" she asked excitedly, shaking her hand hard, only for the other to pull away.

Meesha half-flinched, then slowly smiled. "Oh, uh, well, me and my friends, well, made them." she replied, sounding a little more confidant. She pulled the hood down, holding it out. "I made the coat all by myself. See the inside? Rabbits fur."

Mabel reached out and felt it. "Wow, it's so soft!" she squealed. "I could rub it forever!"

Meesha chuckled, drawing back. With her hood down, it was easy to see that her hair only fell to just below her ears, wild and messy, dark, thick, and tangled. "Yeah, heh heh, sorry, but I kinda need this." she replied, nervousness gone.

"So why are you here? Are you Dippers' new girlfriend?" she asked slyly, elbowing her twin.

Meesha and Dipper both blushed red. "Mabel!" he hissed.

Meesha laughed a little, shaking her head. "Ah, twins. Joy be it always, for friends and rivals." she chuckled some more, much to the twins confusion. "I know a pair of twins back home, heh. But, no. he just invited me in to try . . . that stuff," she gestured to the abandoned soda can. "I sorta have a boyfriend." she rubbed the back of her neck.

"Oh." Mabel replied, thinking. "Hey, where are you from? I don't think I've seen you around before." Mabel mentioned.

Meesha flinched, rubbing the back of her neck. "Around. Hey! Have you happened to see my bird?" she asked. The nervous, twitchy girl was back, and the easy-going, confident one gone, just like that.

Dipper rubbed his chin, humming in thought.

"Is it blue and white and gold?" Mabel asked sadly.

Meesha nodded, a hopeful gleam in her eye. "Yes, she is!" she exclaimed.

Mabel sighed and nodded, turning to leave. "I'll go get her."

Meesha sighed in relief. "Phew. We all thought she was gone."

"We?" Dipper asked suspiciously.

Meesha shrunk back at this, eyes darting side to side. "Uh, yeah, 'we', um . . ." she replied nervously. "My younger cousins, my aunt, my grandpa. That bird is like, pretty much our good luck charm. In a sense."

"And you keep her in a cage? Why? Where do you even live?" Dipper demanded.

Meesha eyes darted from side to side, backing up into the wall. "Well, ah, that's sorta, um, hard." she looked hard at Dipper, contemplating.

At that moment, Mabel walked back in, cupping the tiny thing in her hands. Riley tittered loudly upon seeing Meesha, who's eyes lit up, smiling wide. "Alida!" she quickly darted over, scooping the bird out of Mabel's hands. She messed up her hair, grinning wide. "Thank you so much for helping me find her!"

Mabel grinned back. "Glad to have helped! I found Riley, er, Alida outside when she flew into a tree."

Meesha eyed the bird. "Is that so?" she asked it. Riley, or, apparently,  _Alida_ , hummed in response, fluttering out a wing. Meesha's eyes widened. "You don't say?" she mutters. the bird ducks it's head in a kind of nod. Eyebrows shooting up, Meesha nods back, eyeing the Pines twins before heading back for the door.

Dipper and Mabel followed her, noticing that she has trouble with the doorknob. "Here, allow me." Mabel offers, opening it up. "Is your wrist sore or something?"

Meesha nods quickly, walking down the porch, heading for the woods, oddly, and not the road. "Thanks again!" she calls.

Mabel waves back and Dipper calls, "See you around!"

Something flickers across her face, some mystery emotion that Dipper nor Mabel can quite decipher. She ducks her head in a sort of half-nod, an almost scared, warning look on her face before she pulls her hood up. The twins glance at eachother, concerned, before looking back a moment later.

By then, she is gone, having started to sprint as soon as the trees provided enough cover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's two more of 'em! As shown in the last chapter, we've got some humans and monsters apparently living together. What of this, though? And how long ago was it that so many got turned to stone?
> 
> Take a guess and please review!


	3. To Hurt or to Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six anonymous creatures enter the bunker. Inside, a fight ensues after a dangerous prisoner is released. Afterwards . . . a different number to the tally is needed.

Five figures walked silently in single file, silent and wary in the night. They had precious few hours before dawn to get what they wanted done. Some walked on two legs, others four. Some had long tail or wings, others none. Really, it was difficult to tell exactly who or  _what_  they were in the dark . . . unless you happened to have perfect night vision.

Upon reaching the tree-that-was-not-a-tree, they halted. "Now, does everyone remember the plan?" asked the tallest and eldest, ears flicking.

"Yes, yes, we've been over it a dozen times. Go on, trick the thing into drinking the stuff, knock or drag him out, we run for it." a younger, more feminine voice interrupted, earning a sigh from the person standing next to her, shuffling his hooves.

"Technically, you and me are back up; runners to distract so we can bolt and shut the place up so that, that . . .  _thing_  doesn't get loose in town. That would be a disaster tenfold that we do  _NOT_  want." the other, a boy, answered sensibly.

A light grumble and heavy footfalls proceeded the larger of the two young boys lightly knocking the two over the head. "Be quiet." he growled softly. "We don't know how well those cabin-people can hear, and we don't want to attract any other attention, besides."

"Let's just get in already." stated the fifth member of the party. Holding out a hand, she released a small, fluttery creature that quickly flew upwards, weaving it's way among the branches before alighting on the one that was actually a lever.

"It's right here! Just a bit of a blow upwards should be good." came the voice, sounding like the sweet tinkling of wind-chimes or little bells.

The heavier one hauled himself upwards, unable to just dig his sharp claws into the metal as he would a tree, instead gripping branches. After making sure the tiny creature was on his shoulder and out of harms way, he slammed his fist into the underside of the lever. It moved upwards from the blow, and he clung to the branch below it as the whole tree shifted and moved downwards. The others backed up, making sure they wouldn't fall into the hole created.

Dropping with a grunt, the lever-hitter glided slowly down into the pit, landing as silently as possible. After a few moments of snuffing the air, he called up, "It's alright, come on down!"

One by one, they did, leaving the largest four-legged of them topside, standing guard.

The other three carefully stepped down, and together, they walked inside. Pulling down hoods as they enter the poorly-lit space, their identities are easier to make out and see.

One is none other than Meesha Bear, looking around with wary interest at the differing things in the small space, stepping lightly and keeping her hood pulled tightly about her face.

Fluttering in the air around the ceiling is Alida, but not as the small bird previously seen. No, what darts about now is more like a tiny human, no bigger than a hummingbird, though she still looks the part from the back, flapping tiny arms and shifting tail feathers, all apart of her "cloak", but still attached to her.

The one to hit the lever is a gargoyle; gold-orange hair short and some-what groomed, he slowly stretches and sniffs the air, wrinkling his sensitive nose at the dusty, old, dank scent to it.

"Well, Alida, you're right about one thing," he says aloud. "There were four others here; and humans, no less." he snorted a little, trying to keep the dust out of his nose.

A winged mountain lion paces not to far off, long blond hair hanging from her head, half-tangled already and tail twitching, turns grey eyes on him. "I can scent them too, Kaden," she says; she sounds nervous, which isn't very much like her at all. "It leads into here, but then they leave, too, and with a very strange scent left about them. The scents are all at least a week old, so I'm not sure what it is."

The only four-legged creature down there, a Cervitaur white as snow with jade-green eyes, some saddlebags and a blanket tied snugly on his deer flanks and a coat similar to Meesha's, walks over to her. "It'll be fine," he reassures the Were-Lion. "Don't worry, Marci; you can always just go back if you want to."

She immediately growls under her breath, shaking her head. Grabbing at her hair with hand-like paws, she quickly braids it down messily, tail tip twitching. "I'm not leaving you down here alone, Stancio, and that's final!" she told him stubbornly.

Alida led the way, flittering into the tunnel behind the map. Meesha followed close after, then Marci, easily slinking through on all fours, wings tucked in close. Kaden had to squeeze, but made it through without scraping the metal too bad. Stancio had the worst of it. His deer legs simply weren't made to crawl and the way he had to keep his human stomach so close the metal underneath him was uncomfortable.

With a little help, though, he was soon in the room with the rest of them. Alida flits about the room, showing the others the four buttons they need to press, besides where the door is, so they can run through.

But there's a slip-up; Meesha accidentally stepped on one just as she was reaching for the last one. As the walls start to close in, she quickly presses the correct one, and everyone hurries through.

Except for Kaden. He manages to hold back a few of the moving wall things for a few short seconds before being shoved back, but it buys precious time for the others, who's extra limbs like wings or tails take a little longer to coordinate into the next room.

After they're all through, he quickly lunges and tumbles in. Alida then leads them over to the monitor, peering at the cryostasis tube the shapeshifter is imprisoned in.

"Everyone remember the plan?" she asked, small hands hovering over the button.

They all nod, one by one. "Okay, then go in there." she nods to the door. Marci steps in and shuts the door, pulling the chain thing and making sure to cover her face with her wings as the shower overhead sprays her, followed by the quick blasts of air. The door to the opposite side opens, and she knocks on the one she came through three times, then once more.

The others open the door and follow her, leaving Meesha and Alida in the control room as they approach the shape-shifters prison. They quickly position themselves, Stancio fidgeting in front of the glass tube while Marci carefully perches on top of it in the shadows, and Kaden steps off to the side, just out of sight, crouching deeply on all fours before reverting to solid stone.

No breathing, no heartbeat, his clothes and hair and even his more black/dark-grey horns and claws become plain grey stone, solid and unbreakable. Silently, he watches. Stancio gives a thumbs up and shifts in front of the door leading back out. Once the tube opens, the light dimming, he rushes forward, legs "accidentally" kicking the door shut with a loud  _clang_.

The blue-tinted, cold-looking figure of a twelve-year-old boy stumbles out, falling to his knees, heaving for breath and shivering. Stancio quickly stops beside him, gently taking him by the arm and pulling him upright, allowing the other to lean on him.

"Oh, by bells and breezes! Are you alright?" he asks, managing to sound worried and concerned; he actually is and can't help to be, considering this looks like only a young boy.

The "boy" only nods faintly, coughing and gasping some more.

"Do you need something to drink?" Stancio presses. "I don't think I have anything warm, but I have a little juice."

The boy finally looks up at him, seeming surprised. "Wh-what are you?" he asks timidly.

Stancio shrugs. "Not sure, but I'm half deer. All I know." he replies, managing a few sad notes in it. He's not the one that pretends stuff; that's his sister, or Kaden when he's feigning injury or weakness in a fight.

It would appear, though, that the thing may be disoriented from being frozen for so long.

The boy suddenly pushes away, and with a squelching sound, suddenly changes into a sort of pilot-man, complete with boots and goggles. When he next speaks, his voice is different, too, though it still sounds like he's half-frozen. "M-my dear b-boy, pl-please don't be a-alarmed," he tries to soothe, taking a step closer only to trip and stumble, falling on his side with a quiet squeal.

Stancio slowly walks closer and folds his deer legs so he's sitting next to the other. From one saddlebag, he pulls out a small bottle, half-filled with orange juice. The "man" quickly spots it, eyes widening; he likes what he sees, but his hands are shaking too bad to really hold the bottle well.

Gently helping him sit up, he eases the bottle too his lips and helps him drink. Sip by sip, the other finishes the whole bottle, which Stancio then tucks away. Standing slowly, he helps the other up, allowing the other to lean on him, which he's doing heavily, still half-frozen and appearing to be beyond exhausted.

Suddenly, Marci is slinking down the side of the cryostasis chamber, wings half-flared out and teeth bared, all her sharp black claws revealed, fur bristling. Stancio lays back his ears and slowly backs away, a quiet bleating sound escaping his throat. The shape-shifter, still in his aviator man disguise, eyes the predator slinking closer.

Despite not wanting to, he feels slightly indebted to the small, white creature that not only freed him, but also gave him orange juice, which he hadn't had for years and years. Moving in front of the trembling deer-child despite his own tremors of cold, he snarls at the creature, before realizing something. When he blinked, to capture the image of it's form for later use, he didn't see the heat signatures, and everything was quickly losing it's orange tint.

He frowned, but stood straight regardless. "St-stay back, you w-weakling!" he growled out, trying to use his true voice, but it remained stuck as the one he used for the aviator can mascot guy. What was happening to him?!

Marci only growled, eyes glinting in a predatory manner, and as the Shapeshifter struggled to transform, he found he couldn't; and, hearing the muted whimper behind him, he spares a glance at the . . . deer, human,  _creature_. It seemed so  _scared_ , and besides, it had helped him, besides giving him juice. He shifted into a slightly more defensive stance in front of the other(moving, not actual  _shape_ -shifting).

He owed the young boy this much, at least. Bending over, he scooped up a few pebbles and chucked them at the winged lion . . .  _thing_. Only one actually hit, and the creature only roared in response, ears laid back now and growling constantly deep in it's throat as it approached the two. The Shape-shifter glanced uneasily from side to side.

He still felt tired and sluggish from being frozen so long(how long was it this time? A year? Two? He wasn't sure), and it must've been affecting his shifting abilities worse than he originally thought. He couldn't very well leave the other behind, still feeling indebted to it. That left either trying to run with it or tackling the thing in front of him.

Before he could decide, a tiny, pale hand grasped his gloved one. Instead of feeling it as if he'd been touched on the hand, he felt it as if feeling through something else, as if through actual cloth. Which was odd, because when he first shifted into this form, he could feel the floor as if the boots were his own six feet, not as he was now, as if wearing actual boots.

He looked back at the child, finding his whole arm was quickly being hugged and used like a teddy bear. Frightened jade eyes stared up at him. "Pl-please don't leave me . . ." the little one got out. the shape-shifter frowned, not quite sure what emotion was now rising up to squeeze at his heart, or what angry thing was coiling in his gut, but he suddenly felt the the urge to keep the other safe.

He gently pulled his hand free, but held it over the others chest, backing up and making him back up with him. "Stay b-back, you b-beast!" he shouts, taking up another stone to chuck at the winged lion, managing to catch it on the nose. It stops and sits back on it's haunches, pawing at it's snout with a growly whimper.

Somehow managing to scoop the creature up into his arms, he darted to the side heading towards one of the tunnels. The white creature in his arms is a little bigger than he thought, and hard to hold because of the six legs. He also finds that he can't quite access his usual strength. He feels limited, almost . . . almost  _weak_. Like some sort of single-form human.

He nearly scoffed at the thought, he was just sluggish because he was frozen so long. And he was only helping this thing get away from a common threat to them both, not because he cared or had compassion. That was a silly human emotion. He suddenly tripped, landing on top of the other, who squealed from the weight. Before he could stand, a heavy weight landed on his back.

He couldn't twist his head around like normal, trying to hurt, so he couldn't quite see what was on top of him. He'd searched through and cleared out this place years ago, besides constantly guarding and rechecking it. Is it really possible that he'd been frozen so long, something else had moved in?

He was sudden;y grabbed by the back of the jacket and roughly hauled off, before being flung across the room. His head hit the ground and he was stunned, everything suddenly exploding with pain as he groaned. He'd never felt pain quite like this. What was wrong with him? Dazedly, he slowly sat up, blinking and groaning when the dim light met his eyes, turning away and shutting them.

"To bright . . ." he moaned, before shivering a little, feeling cold still.

Three shapes, one white, one large and grey with glowing yellow eyes(he assumed) and one more of a blonde-ish color. He struggled to stand, disoriented, but fell back. He was so tired . . . what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he shapeshift?

Everything slipped away and became black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seems to go down many different pathways for awhile before re-settling into a sortof-steady plotline. All those paths I just mentioned? They all end on the same road. So please bear with me and, as always, enjoy!


	4. Deer-People; Past and Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long ago, a favor was made. Now, inadvertently, Stanley repays an old debt to something he wasn't sure he'd even seen. Then again, it all comes back to us in time, yes? As they say, "What goes around, comes around."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hm . . . I wonder what was up with the Shapeshifter. And why they would free him in the first place . . . What do you guys think?

Stan had little choice but to lock up the place after the twins dragged Soos and Wendy off to do . . . who know's what. He remembered something mentioned about McGucket . . . but could they possibly want with the old koot.

Stepping outside onto the porch, Stan takes a seat on the couch, soda in hand. Just peering out into the woods. This was . . . actually kinda nice. Just enjoying the rest of the evening int he peace and quiet.

"What?" tilting his head, Stan realized that it wasn't so quiet . . . . and maybe not so peaceful, either.

Standing, he stared hard out towards the woods. Howls and sharp barks were apparent, and not to far away, either. As it got closer, he could make out a voice.

"Oh man oh man  _oh man_!?"

Stan frowned. Was someone . . . being  _chased_  out there? "Hey, kid!" he was shouting before he really thought it through. "Over here!" not half a minute later, someone  _does_  come skidding out of the trees, eyes wide with panic. And behind him . . . came two wolves, and one was limping.

Reaching a hand down, Stan grabbed the kid by the arm and helped to haul him onto the porch, too focused on the wolves to really take in the kids appearance. A sideways glance told him, however, the the kid was very pale in the face, besides possibly bleeding from somewhere.

"Reach under the couch cushions," he commanded quietly. "There should be a gun there."

The kid doesn't move to do what he says, or really respond in any way. He's bent over and heaving for breath. With light growl of his own, Stan quickly moves to grab it himself, keeping the wolves in sight the entire time. They're just standing there now, alternately glancing at him and fixing hungry eyes on the kid, who's by now pressed himself into a corner.

Cursing under his breath when he doesn't find it, Stan instead walks off the porch and takes a shovel. "Kid, get in the house, I'll drive them off." there's a few moments silence, and then he hears footsteps and the door opening.

Turning his attention back to the wolves, Stan shouts wordlessly and swings, satisfied when one jumps back and the other scrambles to it's feet. He repeats the gesture, again, and again, shouting. In a few short minutes, he's scared them off. He smiles a bit, but frowns as he turns back. There was some blood on the ground, leading back up to the porch.

Eyes widening, he cursed under his breath. He'd forgotten about the kid, and he had every right to be concerned. The kid had looked . . . so  _pale_. Pulling open the door, Stan freezes in surprise. The kid never closed it, nor did he move farther inside. The hood the he'd had been wearing was now thrown back, revealing white-blond hair, a pale, milk-white face and pale jade eyes.

As well as snowy-white ears, now laying flat to his neck from where they had flicked up in surprise. Eyes quickly looking the kid up and down, Stan swiftly realizes that this kid isn't normal, in any sense of the word.

After his jacket ends, rather than any form of pants are deer legs, snowy white deer legs with pinkish hooves.  _'Like a Centaur . . . but with a deer body. . . and all white?'_  Stan thinks numbly, trying to wrap his head around it. He feels like he's seen this before somewhere . . .  _knows_  he has, in fact. Mentally removing the coat and . . . what are those, saddlebags? And adding some brown fur, black head of hair and actual skin tone, Stan realizes.

Only thing was, the situation had been reversed.

-o0O0o-

 _Stanley pushed himself, breaths becoming ragged. Foolish! He had been_ foolish _to go searching for the other journals in the middle of winter! Not only were the deep snows a problem, but there were predators out here, both natural and_ super _natural!_

 _He should've_ at least _brought a weapon with him. Tripping over a tree root, Stanley yelps, ankle twisting painfully as he hits the cold snow. Managing to turn his head, he spots the seven-odd wolves that had been chasing him. There's no_ way _he'll be able to outrun them now. He's not even quite sure how he got this far ahead of them._

 _Just as one get's closer, he hear's a shout. Suddenly, there's something darting between him and the wolves. Stanley's not even sure_ what _he's looking at. It looks like a deer, except for about where the neck and head would be. From there up, it's like a man from the waist up, but with . . . deer ears?_

 _Either he's hallucinating or this is one of those supernatural things his brother was apparently searching for and documenting. But then . . . why is it_ helping _him? With another shout, the creature practically lunges in among the pack, a crude stone knife in one hand, kicking and slashing. It's hazel-grey eyes meet Stanley's._

_"_ Run _!" he urges, letting out a cry when a wolf leaps on top of him, twisting around to slash it across the face and yank it off, it's teeth scraping his flanks. Stan struggles to his feet, trying to limp away. Sounds of fighting and snarling are loud in the previous stillness, cries of pain from both wolf and human-ish creature. Stan winces with every step, unable to set a fast pace without risk of breaking his ankle._

_The, er,_ deer-person _seems to notice this, suddenly leaping away from the wolves only to pause next to the Pines man. Stanley can't help but flinch. The creature is covered in blood, both his and the wolves, besides carrying a knife. The man slips the knife into a sort of holster held up by a belt where his waist would be as a human._

_"Hold on," is all the warning he gets before suddenly getting hauled onto the things back. Managing to get a grip by wrapping his arms around it's bare chest, Stan looks back. Four out of the seven wolves are approaching with bared teeth and laid back ears, two dead and one pawing at it's eyes, blood dripping to the ground, behind them. The last four have cuts, but are clearly willing to tackle the two._

_The deer-man is suddenly sprinting, leaving the wolves behind. Stan yelps at first, unfamiliar with riding even horses, so this is an even odder experience. Now and then, he can feel the deer-person's torso, and presumably his head, twisting around, looking back and panting, searching for signs of the pack following, or checking on Stan himself. Suddenly, he skids to a halt in the snow, heaving for breath and shivering._

_Stan sits up a little straighter and looks around. He's not sure where they are. The deer-man he's riding starts walking, ears flicking and head turning, staying on a constant look out for any threats, either ignoring or possibly forgetting the human on his back. Stan loosens his grip on the others chest, instead gripping his shoulders._

_"So, um, any chance you could take me home?" he speaks up._

_The other stumbles, but quickly rights himself, glancing back in surprise. Then, surprisingly, smiles with a nod. "Of course, of course. The names' Roscoe." the deer-person replies, turning and changing their course._

_"Stan Pines." he replies._

_Roscoe pauses, then continues on. "That right? Hm. I shoulda guessed, given how deep in the woods you were."_

_"Really?" Stanley returned, raising a brow._

_Roscoe nodded, giving him a bit of a sideways glance. "Not all the creatures out here appreciate being hunted down, even if they're not harmed. I'd actually say you're lucky I was nearby. No one else would've helped willingly."_

_A chill went down his spine, and it wasn't from the icy air. "Wh-what do you mean?" he asks, getting nervous. Could he even trust this thing?_

_Roscoe shrugged. "I'm only saying that not everyone really likes having you poking into their personal business. But I won't just leave someone to get torn apart by wolves; then I really_ would _be a monster. And_ you _, Stanford Pines, don't deserve that, despite what others might think."_

_"Oh, uh, it's actually Stanley Pines. Ford's my twin brother." Stanley replied, rubbing the back of his neck._

_Roscoe stopped altogether, turning to look at him, studying his face. "I see. Well, interesting. Here we are." just through the trees was the cabin. "Do take care. The woods can be dangerous for those that don't know them. I wouldn't want either you or your brother getting hurt in the end."_

_Stanley nods numbly, sliding off the other's back and beginning to limp towards his house. He looks back once, in time to see the deer-person holding both hands over a wound on its flank. How had he not noticed it sooner? It looks kinda bad. Roscoe then turns and bounds away, leaving Stan to wonder if he really_ had _seen that or not._

-o0O0o-

Stan is jerked back to the present when he spots blood, seeping through the arm of the jacket on the kid. "Oh, jeeze." he mumbled, closing the door behind him and quietly ushering the kid towards the kitchen. Confused and looking on the verge of panic, the deer-kid allows him too.

Rifling through the cupboards once there, he pulls out the first aid kit and sets it on the table, before getting a washcloth damp and turning back to the kid. "Take off your coat." the command is followed slowly, given the kid is wincing, so Stan gently helps ease it off.

He hisses a little in sympathy, seeing all the blood, and gently starts mopping it up, revealing a pretty large and deep bite. "That might need stitches . . ." he mutters, grabbing up some gauze and disinfectant.

"St-stitches?" the kid stutters, the first words he's really spoke since arriving. He fingers a few stitches on his coat, which looks to be made of some sort of animal skin, maybe a few. "I-I dunno . . ."

"Just hold still. This stuff will hurt, but it'll keep it from getting infected." Stan replied, gently pouring a little disinfectant on the wound, holding the kids wrist in a firm, yet gentle grasp. He expected him to jerk away, to start struggling. Heck, he wouldn't have been overly surprised if the kid flat-out attacked him.

Instead, the deer-child only grit his teeth and screwed his eyes shut, standing stock-still, even as Stan wrapped his arm up in gauze. Slowly opening one eye, then the other, the kid slowly flexed his bandaged arm.

"Huh . . .okay then." he mutters, before looking up at Stan with wide, cautious eyes.

"The names Stan Pines." he offers one hand, and the kid hesitantly takes it.

"Oh! Um . . . Stancio Evergreen. Uh . . . I'm a . . . Cervitaur?" he made a loose gesture towards his deer flanks and legs, ears flicking a little.

Stan only hums in reply, thinking. "So, what were you doing getting chased by wolves? I thought deer lived in herds or whatever." he commented, trying to make some kind of conversation.

Stancio shrugged. "Well, not me . . . not exactly, anyway." he glanced to the side, avoiding eye contact. "Because of, well,  _this_ ," he makes a loose gesture at himself, "I'm not really accepted. Only one other Cervitaur really helps me out. Roscoe. He's like a grandpa . . . sorta." he says nothing to clarify what he meant by "this".

Stan tilts his head, pursing his lips in thought. "I think I may've met your gran-dad, then. Years ago."

The other looks at him, tilting his head curiously. "Really? Huh. Well . . . I think I should get going. Even if I don't have a herd, there's other people, er, creatures who'll worry over my absence. Thanks for the help."

Stan nods and escorts him to the door. The kid isn't wearing any sort of shirt, and has already folded and stuffed his bloody coat into one of the saddlebag-looking things, which look handmade. Heck, the coat looked handmade, too. Did he make them himself? Or did someone else do it for him?

"Please don't tell anyone; we really don't want to be hunted down." Stancio suddenly pleads. "Especially me; a white stag is worth more than a brown one, and a white Cervitaur . . ." the kid shudders, fear clear in his eyes.

Accidentally, Stan thinks back to when he was on the run, barely getting the chance to ever rest or stay in one place for long. He nods. "I won't tell a soul." he promises, holding a fist over his heart.

Unexpectedly, the deer-child smiles, forming a fist and holding it over his own heart, before raising it skyward. Stan grins a little, mimicking the gesture. Stancio leaps from the porch and trots to the treeline. He pauses and glances back at Stan, giving another smile and a wave, which the elder man can't help but return.

And then . . .he's gone, just like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, look at that! Stan doesn't have a heart made of stone, afterall! Please let me know what you think. c-:


	5. Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A mysterious lady living in the lake, and a strange powder that renders ones senses useless. Another piece to the puzzle brings up only more questions, no answers, and leaves a Stan shaken and some Twins worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No idea about the title name, it's what came to me and I currently can't think of anything better. Let me know if you have any better ideas.
> 
> The song belongs to me, so no stealing!!!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dipper had gone with Grunkle Stan on a fishing trip, and Grunkle Ford had left a few hours before into the woods, journal in hand, and Mabel was going to meet her friends, Candy and Grenda.

Except . . . Candy had gotten the flu, and Grenda was away for the rest of the week, from Thursday to next Monday, to visit some relatives out of town. So, instead, Mabel checked in with Stan and Dipper before walking along the lakeshore.

It was rather nice, skipping small stones across the water, feeling the breeze, just . . . taking all the nature had to offer. Especially after the fiasco with the wizard guy, who wanted to eat her bro-bro and Grunkle Fords' brains.

Glancing down into the water, she saw her own reflection peering back at her, calm and still. Mabel frowned suddenly, peering closer. Her hair wasn't quite that long and hover-y, nor was it black . . .she lurched back when the other face came closer, breaking out of the water and making ripples that otherwise ruined the reflection she had been previously looking in.

Looking up at her in the deeper water was a girl, or more like, a women, with long black hair and bright, curious sea-green eyes. She tilted her head, simply watching Mabel.

Mabel tilted her head, as well, suddenly struck with curiosy-ness. "Hello!" she called. The women in the water blinked, then smiled slowly, a hand raising from the water to wave a little.

Mabel venture closer. "My names Mabel, who are you?"

The other seemed surprised by this question, and jerked back, then swam closer, keeping only her head above the water. "Marletta." she replied quietly, as if afraid.

Mabel frowned a little at this. "You don't have to be scared." she told her.

Marletta smiled at this, coming even closer. "I'm not really. I just . . .I don't think most people would readily accept me for what I . . .look like."

Mabel tilted her head, blowing a raspberry. "Pssh, I doubt it! Come on! Is it just what your bathing suit looks like?" Mabel asked.

The other blinked at her, then sighed, stirring the water in front of her slightly. Slowly, she rose more above the water. What Mabel first noticed was the soaked vest she wore. It looked to be made of . . . some sort of animal skin. Next were the purple fins on her forearms, and the membrane that gave her webbed fingers. Then there were the slits running along her neck, vertical to the water. Just behind her, a bit of purple scales dipped above the water, followed by the broad fin of a tail.

Mabel's eyes widened and she gasped, grinning wide. "Oh my gosh! You're a mermaid?" Mabel asked walking right up and sitting at the waters edge.

Marletta nodded after a moment, smiling tentatively back. She came a little closer, allowing more of her tail to be seen. It was at least six or seven feet long, with a dorsal fin, similar to the fins on her forearms, running down from her human spine, about the middle of her back, and tapering off about half way down her tail. She had more fins on the sides of her tail, a little closer to her "waist", that seemed to be very long and strong compared to the others.

The end of her tail appeared to have some sort of barb sticking out at the end of each bone, visible through the thinner skin stretched between, most likely for self defense. The scales were royal purple, the fins more of a translucent lavender, the bones running through them a few shades darker and more opaque. Black hair spread around her in the water, making her look almost angelic.

Mabel reached out and gently laid a hand on one fin. When it only twitched slightly, she gently pet at it. "Woah! This has got to be one of the coolest things I've ever seen!" she grinned.

Marletta smiled again and shifted, moving her tail a little closer, allowing the younger to pet along it. "Oh, thank you . . ?" she replied. "What are you doing down here anyway? All the other humans are out there, fishing." she pointed a finger towards the parking lot and dock.

Mabel shrugged. "Eh, wasn't up for it. My friends couldn't stop by, so I decided to go for a walk."

Marletta nodded, thinking. "Hm. . . .well, what do you want to do now? You're not exactly dressed for swimming." the mermaid points out.

Mabel shrugged. "I dunno. Oh, I know! What about an spur-of-the-moment karaoke contest?" she asks, getting excited.

"A what?" Marletta asks, brows furrowing in confusion.

"You know, like a sing-off! Or you could teach me one of your merperson song-y things instead, if you want." Mabel offered quickly.

Seeming very amused at the "merperson" part, Marletta nodded and spread her hands out in a questioning way. "Do you have any preference as to what I sing?"

Mabel shrugged, gesturing for her to do whatever. The mermaid "sat back" in the water, thinking as she stared up at the clear sky. "Hm . . .maybe . . . no, that's a duet," she muttered. Mabel was about to ask who she sang with, but the mermaid seemed to make up her mind, "standing" upright in the water, leaning forward so as to place her elbows on the shore, like leaning over a desk or table.

" _I watched you grow_  
_From a far distance_  
_And you may never know_  
_Just how much I wanted_  
_To offer all of my assistance_

 _But what could I do?_  
_What could I say?_  
_You were the only one_  
_Who seemed to know the way_

 _Running along a path I could never take_  
_Even though I wish it was all fake_  
_You were always there for me_  
_And now you're . . . you've been gone all day,_ "

Mabel could see the tears starting to track down the others face, despite the small smile there. It made her wonder what would bring up this sort of song. Was it from a tale of old, from some sad-old merperson tragedy? Her own personal life? Or just something she was making up now for the sake of it?

" _I never dreamed it end like this  
__And I yearn to look skyward and wish  
__That somehow I could've swapped our roles  
__But all of it was out of my grasp and control_

 _You threw yourself in the way_  
_And you saved the day_  
_Oh, and even when the others visit you_  
_I yearn to follow but I can't, it's true,_ "

Marletta had closed her eyes, pushing back a bit from the shore until she was a couple of feet out, hugging herself. Mabel turned when she heard footsteps behind her, coming from the woods. There, she saw Grunkle Ford, looking rather dazed and headed right for her, a journal held loosely in his grasp. It slipped from his grasp and fell a few feet from the water, just before he started to walk right into it.

" _I'd do anything to turn back time  
__And keep you safe in my arms  
__But there was nothing I could do  
__Nothing I could say to you_

 _All I ask is a touch of forgiveness_  
_And maybe bit of hope_  
_That we can work it all out together_  
_Oh, for you I'd do anything_

 _Brother . . ._ "

Trailing off, the mermaid opened her eyes, only to freeze in place. Ford was struggling to keep walking forward, the water pouring over the tops of his boots. Mabel had grabbed his coat tightly, leaning back and digging in her heels, trying to keep him from going any farther.

When the song stopped, he stopped struggling, shaking his head and stumbling back. The mermaid let out a distressed keening sound, ducking under the water just as Ford looked over. There was a flash of blue, darting in front of Ford, forcing him to stumble back further.

He shook his head, trying to clear it, just as the blue blur was back, rushing at his face. Something hit him, right between the eyes, with a consistency between sand and dust. He stumbled back again, reaching for his gun, coughing. He suddenly froze, however.

Mabel stared up at him, and the strange blue-black powder that now dusted his face. It glimmered in the sunlight and disappeared. Slowly, he raised both hands, ghosting slowly over his face, confusion becoming apparent.

"Grunkle Ford?" She asked, trying to get him to move backwards, away from the water. After several long moments, he suddenly stumbled back, clutching tightly at the front of his sweater, muttering out gibberish.

She tried to stop him from falling over, but he seemed not to even be all there. She peered down at his face from where he lay, breathing fast, eyes darting one, then another, but they never focused on anything. He couldn't seem to hear her, nor did he react when she laid a gently hand on one of his.

After several seconds of no response, Mabel made a quick decision and bolted for the dock.

"Grunkle Stan! Dipper!" she shouted, skidding to a halt next to the boat, panting. Stan cut off the engine and both looked up at Mabel.

"What is it, sweetie?" he asked, frowning at the clear panic about her features.

She tried to get her breath back, pointing the way she'd come. "It's . . . Ford . . ." she got out, motioning for them to follow. "I don't know . . . needs help!" she managed. Stan's eyes widened. He hopped out of the boat, making a loose knot with the rope to the dock, and together, they hurried around the lakeshore.

Ford had scrambled to his feet, reaching out for something that wasn't there when they got back. His other hand clenching tightly at the neck of his sweater, knuckles white. He was hyperventilating, panic and fear seen easily in his eyes. He'd moved farther back from the shore.

"Ford?" Stanley tried, walking closer.

"Oh god, oh  _god_ ," Ford choked out, shoulder banging roughly into a tree, but he didn't notice at all.

Stanley moved closer, reaching out to gently take his brothers hand, trying to loosen it from his collar. "Relax, Poindexter, before you choke yourse-" he fell silent, realizing his brothers muttered words.

"I'm  _dead_  . . .I'm  _freaking **dead** , gosh-dangit_!" he mumbled, eyes wide with fear, tears streaming down his cheeks as he turned away. His legs seemed to give way beneath him, unable or unwilling to hold his weight.

Stanley caught him best he could, easing him down with his back against the tree. "Easy there, bud, it's alright." he tried to reassure, but Ford didn't acknowledge his words. Wasn't even looking at him.

With a shout, Stanford was suddenly struggling, trying to get away and stand. Mabel and Dipper, pouring through the journals nearby for something about the powder stuff Mabel had seen, looked up in surprise and concern.

Stanley grunted at the hard blow to his ribs, managing to wrestle his brother down. He placed his arm across his shoulders and chest, leaning in so as to keep him there.

"Ford, calm down!" he practically growled, his ribs throbbing from the blow. After several moments of fighting and almost getting out of his tight grasp, Ford fell still again.

His eyes seemed to take in something only he could see in the distance. A few moments later, his eyes flickered towards Dipper and Mabel, actually focusing on them. He squirmed slightly in discomfort. Stanley eased up slightly, realizing just how hard he'd held his brother down. Ford dug his fingers into the ground, covering them dirt and prickly pine needles.

As he did, something about him seemed to come at ease, the tension in his shoulders lessening. His eyes snapped up to meet Stanley's, actually  _seeing_  him, taking in the fact that his twin was there.

"Ford?" Lee asked quietly, trying not to get his hopes to high for a coherent response just yet.

"St-stanley?" he seemed to choke on the word. He shifted slightly, peering around him, seeming confused at their surroundings.

Stanley relaxed the tight grip, but put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Ford, you're okay now. What happened?" he asked softly, trying to get him to look him in the eye again.

Ford blinked, seeming surprised at the question. "Um . . ." his gaze darted to the side, then down at his boots.

Not the response he'd been looking for, Stanley's gaze hardened into sternness. "Fu-," he glanced back at the kids, who were standing a short distance away, having yet to notice that Ford was again capable of speech.

" _Fudge_ , Stanford!" he whisper-shouted, grip on his shoulder tightening. "Just fudging tell me! You made Mabel and Dipper both panic, so just tell me what the fudging heck was wrong!"

Ford flinched, taking in the tears in his brothers eyes, besides the fear flashing through them. He sighed softly. "I'm . . .I'm not entirely sure. I can't remember . . . only . . ." he trailed off, closing his eyes tight, hands clenching into fists. His breaths came faster again, and shallower, despite how he was trying to keep them level.

"Come'on, Ford," Stanley coaxed softly, gentle and worry coming through again. "Please tell me.  _Please_."

He looked back up at Lee, seeming take him in, a spark of memory lighting up his eyes. "It . . . I dunno what happened, but suddenly . . . I couldn't feel anything." he got out, looking up into the trees branches.

Stanley frowned. "What?" he didn't understand what that was supposed to mean at all.

Ford looked back down at him, panic slowly building in his eyes, but not showing just yet. "I couldn't see anything, feel anything, or hear anything . . . all my senses, gone, all at once . . . Stan, I couldn't feel myself  _breathe_  or  _hear_  my own heartbeat!" he was suddenly frantic, gripping his brother by the vest tightly. "Do you understand? It felt like I'd fr-freaking  _died_  . . . god . . ." he let go and let himself fall back against the sturdy trunk, hiding his face in his hands as more tears fell, shoulders starting to shake with sobs.

Stanley took a moment to process that, allowing himself to try and put himself in Ford's situation. He couldn't, and opted to gently wrap his arms around his bro, hugging him close. "Sh, sh, Ford, it's okay, it's alright. Just calm down, okay? Can you walk? Come'on, let's go home." he says softly, a promise and steadfast protectiveness in his voice. He stands and helps his brother up.

As he walks back to the car, trusting Dipper and Mabel to do as he told them, he tried, once more, to stick himself in his brothers place. And, once again, he can't. Lacking all of your senses? He can guess at being blind, or deaf, but all of them at once?

Climbing in, he started up the car and backed out, focusing more on the road than his thoughts.

* * *

Well, Stanford was officially shocked into immobility; something he'd never really thought possible. Then again . . . he couldn't see anything. Or feel. Or hear. All of his senses -touch, taste, smell, hearing, sight- seemed to have shut off simultaneously. He couldn't even feel the fabric of his coat brushing by his fingers, from where he'd reached for his gun.

Anyone would be frozen and trying to puzzle it out. Slowly, cautiously, he moved to touch his face. Nothing. He couldn't feel a dang thing. He couldn't even hear his own pulse in his ears.

That's about when the panic and doubt set in. If he couldn't even hear his own heartbeat . . . then what did that mean? Had he been knocked unconscious? Or was he . . . . .dead?

Ford attempted to stumble back, trying to clutch at the front of his sweater, trying to speak aloud with random, mostly-nonsense words, but he couldn't feel or hear any of it. He may as well have been walking on nothing, or immobile, blind and deaf simultaneously.

He couldn't remember a time when he'd been so . . . panicked, and scared, and vulnerable all at once. His breath quickened; he was hyperventilating. Or, at least, that's the feeling he got. The impression, the illusion . . . he couldn't actually  _feel_  himself breathing, either in the rise and fall of his chest, or in air coming in and out of his mouth.

He only  _thought_  he was breathing.

"Oh god, oh  _god_ ," he tried to mutter, attempting to clutch at the front of his turtleneck. "I'm  _dead_  . . .I'm  _freaking **dead** , gosh-dangit_!" being around kids all the time, he'd gotten into the habit of muttering non-curse words, even when alone.

 _'Can't feel, can't hear, can't SEE anything . . . oh god . . .'_  his thoughts basically looped around, over and over again, on this idea, this concept; delicately touching upon, but not delving into, the clear possibility that he could be dead.

Then . . . he thought he could catch a glimpse of something. A small, blurred image in front of him. Something was gripping him tightly . . . at least, he  _thought_  so. He could suddenly hear his heartbeat, thrumming almost to-fast in his ears, distantly, but there.

Everything suddenly snapped back into focus; he was sitting, his back was too a tree, and Lee had a strong arm held against his shoulders, pinning him. Mabel was hovering over his shoulder worriedly, clutching one of the journals, while Dipper stood a little farther off, flipping frantically through the second journal for anything that would help.

Lee, who had apparently been watching him, eased, ever so slightly, on his almost painfully tight grasp. Ford snapped his eyes up to him, digging his fingers into the pine needles, grass, and dirt, trying to find something to ground himself with.

"Ford?" Lee asked quietly, looking half hopeful and half resigned.

"St-stanley?" he managed to choke out. That's when he realized that tears were, or had, streamed down his cheeks recently. Managing to look around his brother, he saw the lake a short distance away . . . not twenty feet, really.

Stanley relaxed the tight grip, but put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Ford, you're okay now. What happened?" he asked softly.

Ford blinked, trying to puzzle out exactly what he meant. He wasn't sure how long he'd been . . . whatever he'd been, and couldn't quite remember what he'd been doing last.

"Um . . ." his gaze darted to the side, then down at his boots. They were muddy, wet, and covered in pine needles.

Clearly not the response he'd been looking for, Stanley's gaze hardened into sternness. "Fu-," he glanced back at the kids, who were standing a short distance away and poring over the journals together, apparently haven't not noticed their Grunkle suddenly become responsive.

" _Fudge_ , Stanford!" he whisper-shouted, grip on his shoulder tightening. "Just fudging tell me! You made Mabel and Dipper both panic, so just tell me what the fudging heck was wrong!"

Ford flinched, having not expected this response. Nor the tears welling up in his brothers eyes. He sighed softly. "I'm . . .I'm not entirely sure. I can't remember . . . only . . ." he trailed off, closing his eyes tight, hands clenching into fists. He struggled to keep his breathing even, to stay calm. Didn't help. He had a feeling that it would become a new terror for him; a new nightmare to keep him up at night.

"Come'on, Ford," Stanley coaxed softly, gentle and worry coming through again. "Please tell me.  _Please_."

Ford looked back up again, slowly. His brother was wearing shorts and a green vest over a T-shirt and a hat with fishing hooks stuck in it. Had they been going fishing? He sorta recalled something along those lines.

"It . . . I dunno what happened, but suddenly . . . I couldn't feel anything." he got out, choosing instead to look up at the branches of the tree above him than shut his eyes.

Stanley frowned. "What?"

Ford looked back down at him. "I couldn't see anything, feel anything, or hear anything . . . all my senses, gone, all at once . . . Stan, I couldn't feel myself  _breathe_  or  _hear_  my own heartbeat!" he was suddenly frantic, gripping his brother by the vest tightly. "Do you understand? It felt like I'd fr-freaking  _died_  . . . god . . ." he let go and let himself fall back against the sturdy trunk, hiding his face in his hands as more tears fell, shoulders starting to shake with sobs.

Stanley gently wrapped his arms around him, hugging him close. "Sh, sh, Ford, it's okay, it's alright. Just calm down, okay? Can you walk? Come'on, let's go home." he says softly, a promise and steadfast protectiveness in his voice. He stands and helps his brother up.

Dipper and Mabel step closer, but don't ask questions. After a quick set of instructions to the younger Pines, Stanley heads along the lakeshore. In the far distance, Ford can make out a parking lot and a boat ramp.

Dipper now has both journals, first and third, and Mabel takes his hand and guides him. Not around the lakeshore and to the parking lot, but into the woods. Dipper followed close behind. It is several minutes before he can calm and be sure his voice will sound normal before he can speak.

"Where are we headed?" he asks.

Mabel glances up at him. "Grunkle Stan told us to circle the fishing-place by the lake and head for the roadside. You're still a secret, remember?" she replies, worried and relieved all at once.

Ford nods, trying to think, again, back to what he had been doing prior to suddenly being . . . without his senses. He closed his eyes a moment and shuddered, recalling the sensation -or lack thereof- of being in a void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huh. Never thought I'd do almost-curse words in any story. Hm. Please drop a comment to let me know what you think. C-:


	6. Misunderstandings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An injured creature made of stone is the latest science project of Fords'; to bad this creature wants literally nothing to do with him and is slowly dying because of his continued entrapment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *glances around suspiciously* pretty sure this isn't an ambush.
> 
> . . .yet.
> 
> WARNING!?  
> There's Going To Be Blood And Mentions  
> Of Child Abuse, Besides Starvation, In This  
> Chapter; For Those Who Find That Sort Of  
> Thing Triggering. You've Been Warned.
> 
> Enjo-OH HECKS NO! RUNRUNRUNRUN! *escapes ensuing angry mob of characters, Oc's, creatures and other assorted people from across the fandoms* HELP M-OOF! *tackled*

After explaining what he had experienced, Mabel cut off further questioning of Grunkle Ford by telling what she had seen. With the mermaid, and the blur of color that had repeatedly dive-bombed the elder man. How he'd looked . . . off, before that even happened, dazed, blank, as the mermaid sang. Dipper and Ford started pelting her with more questions, starting to theorize what it could mean.

It was pretty easy to piece together that the mermaid was probably a Siren, as well. Mabel argued to the high heavens, however, that it wasn't intentional to lure anyone. It hadn't affected her at all, and she seemed honestly surprised, scared even, when she realized the other was there. She did nothing to harm anyone, merely ducked under the water and disappeared.

In the end, it was hard to put down her claim, so they went with it. Of course, there was much debate about what the blur had been, and the qualities of the powder that Mabel saw on Ford's face. According to her, he only started to act all . . .  _weird_  after the powder hit. Before, it almost . . .almost looked like he'd just woken up or something, confused as to why he was there.

It was assumed that it was because the mermaid had stopped singing by then, and the powder stuff caused the . . ."Void" -as Dipper phrased it- experience for Grunkle Ford. They didn't have a single clue as to what the powder was or where it came from, but they could find that out at a later time.

* * *

The incident at the lake a few days prior somehow led to Ford leading Mabel into the woods the next day. Dipper and Stan didn't pay either of the two's absences much mind. Perhaps they would've if they realized the two had left  _together_ , and weren't just alone to their own devices. Either way, it came as a bit of a shock for Dipper to go out back and see Ford locking the door to a large metal cage.

With a monster inside. And Mabel hovering worriedly at his side, peering in at the prone creature.

"What the heck is that?!" he demanded, sprinting closer and tripping over his own feet on the stairs. He'd screamed the words, actually, making Ford flinch, Mabel jump, and causing Grunkle Lee to dash outside soon after.

Ford straightened his glasses. "I believe it may be a gargoyle, but I'm not entirely sure. It approached us threateningly when we tried to go deeper into a certain segment of the forest." he explained.

The thing lying in the cage was grey, but other than the horns, wings, and tail, it looked almost like a human, with a shock of gold-orange hair. He seemed to be wearing a rough pair of pants and a hooded coat made of some sort of animal skin. He was sprawled out, looking like he'd been tossed inside. The face was hidden partially beneath one wing and his hair, but all anyone could really see was the mouth.

It was slightly agape, but the sharp, pointed teeth were very clear.

"So, why did you bring it here?" Stanley demanded, moving to stare at it through the bars. It looked completely lifeless; eyes closed, completely limp, no breathing. Did gargoyles even need to breathe?

"To study it, what else? And  _NO_ , you can't turn it into an attraction for your tourist trap." Ford replied, shooting his twin a look.

Lee only glanced at him, quirking an eyebrow. "I wasn't thinking anything like that. How can you be sure it's dead?" he asked.

"We can't; that's why I put it in this cage. Just in case." he paused, thinking, then added. "I saw it breathing, though, before pulling a shot at it. I'm pretty sure it's dead."

Mabel turned a little, meeting Dippers' eyes. She was worried, concerned. Not for their well being, but for the monsters. "Was it necessary to kill it, though?" she asked, glancing up at Ford.

He nodded. "It came out of no where and roared, almost in our faces." he waved an arm in emphasis. Only Lee could catch the dregs of fear and panic in his brown eyes. "If I'd hesitated, it could've hurt you or me." he looked down at Mabel, who met his gaze with a pout. "And I would never let that happen." he sent Lee a bit of a pointed look, brushing past him and into the house.

* * *

The day after, it began to pour. The skies opened and it just rained. And rained. And rained. The next day dulled down to smaller bursts and sprinkles. When Ford, accompanied by Dipper, went to take a look at the creature, they were surprised to find it upright.

It was sitting on it's haunches, hunched over on itself, wings laying limply at it's sides and tail curled in close. It's hair was slicked with rain, ears drooped, and eyes closed. It'd torn off a large section of both it's pant legs, up to the knees, and one arm was wrapped around it's chest. When the other two were close, it shifted slightly, lifting it's head. Sandy-gold eyes stared at them, expression shifting from dull to wary in an instant.

Ford cleared his throat. "How is it still alive? I shot it over the heart, and it had no pulse afterwards."

Dipper leaned a little closer, eyes flicking over it. "Well, it's breathing now . . .are you sure?"

"I'm  _positive_. I don't understand . . ." Ford took out a pen and started clicking it.

The gargoyle glared at him, lips twitching into a snarl before he suddenly dropped it, returning to his first dull, disinterested expression. " **No need breathe,** " he grunted quietly. His voice was deep and gravelly, almost boulder-like. He sounded tired and upset, with a hint of pain.

Ford and Dipper stared at him. "You can talk?" Dipper demanded.

The gargoyle nodded slowly. " **No breath, no heart; thump-thump. Just like better.** " he answered, hunching over himself again and drawing his wings in a little tighter.

"Then how? I know where I shot you," Ford replied, shielding his eyes from the rain and looking for the spot. "You showed all signs of death."

The creature barked out a humorless laugh, bitter and tired. " **Know not everything.** " he replied, snickering once before becoming somber again. " **No need breath, no need heart thumps. Just like better that way. Magic of place.** " he lifted one hand and moved it in a bit of an arc, indicating not just the woods, but maybe the whole town or area, too. It was difficult to be sure.

"Why did you attack me?" Ford pressed.

The creature stared at him hard. " **You come too close. Close to home. Territory, defend. Only reveal, only scare. No hurt, didn't want hurt you.** " he nodded towards the man, indicating.

"Are there any others like you? Any family?" Dipper asked.

The gargoyle laid It's eyes on the boy. It had no pupils, so it was actually difficult to tell where it was looking, other than turns of its head. " **Parents attack, leave me behind. Only me.** " he replied, a touch of bitterness, anger and longing in his voice.

Ford and Dipper glanced at one another, surprised. When they looked back, the gargoyle had hunched over himself again, wings pulled in close, forlornly trying to keep the water off of his stony sides. He ignored the rest of their questions.

* * *

The rain returned with a vengeance the next day. Whenever Ford or anyone else went out on the porch, whether or not they were checking on the gargoyle, the stone creature never seemed to move. It remained hunched over in the middle of the cage, an arm pressed to its chest and wings curled in close, head bowed over and ears drooping.

It didn't respond to any questions anyone asked, didn't even look at them. It was still alive; its chest rose and fell with its breaths, but given what it had said before, it was taken with a grain of salt.

On the day after it was cloudy, but the rain had eased off. Seeing as the creature was still unresponsive, Ford had decided to try sedating it before examining it further. The moment it felt the needle touching its side, however, it growled weakly and swiped at it, knocking it away. It'd glared at the scientist, but there was little venom to it, and it quickly dropped away into tired exhaustion, staring dully at him.

On the fourth day, the creature had collapsed on it's side. The ground was still muddy, oozing up between the bars that made the floor of the cage. It was completely limp save for its right arm, pressed tightly over the left of it's chest. Now, without it's wings blocking the way, they could see why.

It was holding the animal skins torn from it's pants over a wound on it's chest. When Ford experimentally reached through the bars to try and sedate it, it didn't even acknowledge his presence. The only difficulty was he couldn't pierce it's tough hide. When he pressed harder, all he did was bend the tip of the needle beyond repair.

"What do you think is wrong with it?" Dipper asked, peering in as Ford leaned back.

Ford shrugged, looking down at the broken needle. "I'm not sure, but it appears to be weak. Go in the house." Ford told Dipper, pulling the key to the cage out of his pocket.

"What? Why?" Dipper questioned.

"If this is some sort of act, I don't want you getting hurt. Go in the house." Ford repeated. Dipper nodded and did as he said. Ford unlocked and eased open the door. The creature didn't stir. He moved inside cautiously, nudging a wing with his boot. No response. Crouching down, he lifted it's head and brushed away the damp hair from it's face.

The eyes were half-lidded, face pinched with pain and worn with exhaustion. It either didn't notice or care about what the scientist was doing. When Ford tried to ease his right arm from his chest, it growled in protest. It was weak and tired. It lifted its head a little, trying to glare. Its head dropped back against the bars a moment later, glare fading away.

Ford leaned down a little, trying to get the creature to look him in the eye. "What's wrong with you?" he demanded, less than asked.

There was no response for a long minute, though the gargoyle worked it's jaw, as if trying to speak. " **. . .no food . . .lots blood . . .** " it finally rasped out, closing it's eyes with a quiet moan of pain, pressing harder against it's chest. It was difficult to tell if it said "lost" or "lots".

"It's only been a few days . . .how often do you need to eat? How much?" he'd pulled out the third journal, starting to take notes.

The gargoyle opened it's eyes. They were dim, barely glowing at all. " **. . .don't . . .** " it dropped off, unable to continue, curling in tighter on itself.

Ford stared down at it, growing a bit concerned. He reached down and pressed a hand to it's forehead. It felt like stone, but also like skin and therefore capable of motion, despite it's rough feel, and somewhat warm. Suddenly it relaxed, before turning fully to stone. It was amazing; the horns, claws, hair, skin and even clothes all adjusted into a plain grey similar yet different from their normal colors, becoming solid and unmoving.

It's breathing stopped, it grew cold; and there it lay, eyes dimming to match the rest. A large, strange statue. The only thing that didn't turn to stone was the folded wad of animal skins pressed to it's chest. Ford had only a moment to wonder why it had decided to change now before it's form seemed to ripple back to life, a painful rasping coming from it's throat. It curled around it's chest, breathing becoming shallow and harsh.

The sudden change back startled him, and he almost dropped his journal. "What-what did you just do?" Ford demanded.

The gargoyle jerked his head towards the noise, eyes wide and mouth hanging open as he dragged in raspy breaths. He groaned again, slowly curling back. " **. . .stone . . . sleep, pass out . . .**  " it choked out, trying to shift itself, but unable to. Too exhausted or hungry to move.

Ford frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but it beat him to it. " **. . . _hurt_  . . .**" it got out, raising it's other arm to press harder against the wad of animal skins on it's chest, adding more pressure. " **. . .injured, no rest . . . _can't_  rest . . .**"

Ford thought this over. "So you turn to stone when you fall asleep or are knocked unconscious, but you can't now because you're injured?" he summed up.

The gargoyle nodded weakly, a quiet whimper-like noise choking out of it's throat. Ford was at a bit of a loss. "Well, how do you heal? Does it need stitches? Would that even work?" he muttered, glancing up and looking into the forest beyond. He startled and jerked back when he felt a wet hand grasp his wrist.

The gargoyles right hand was covered in blood. It's left remained pressed to the skins, which were soaked in it. This blood was a deep crimson, much darker than any humans blood, smelling heavily of iron and copper, water-logged moss and dank, damp caves. There was a pleading look about his face, which was already worn away by the hunger and exhaustion of the past few days.

" **. . .free . . .** " it got out, it's weak grasp slipping from the humans arm as Ford stumbled to his feet and away. It looked earnestly up at him. " **. . .home, heal . . .** " it rasped, curling in on itself with a sudden groan.

"Isn't there something I can do?" Ford asked, moving closer and crouching before it again, journal tucked away and reaching for the wad of blood-soaked cloth. It didn't reply, curled up with it's eyes squeezed shut and breathing labored.

Ford laid a cautious, gentle hand on the wad of cloth, slowly easing it away, his other hand gripping it's wrist. There was no resistance, no protest. No nothing. As he pulled the soaked wad down, he could see a bit of the wound. The shot he'd pulled had burned a clean hole through the animal skin it wore, and a clean hole in it's stone-like skin, which didn't even bleed or show any signs of blood as he carried it home.

That was the exact opposite now. It wept blood profusely, the dark red liquid seeping out like no tomorrow. Upon seeing the intensity of the wound, Ford froze, staring in shock for a long moment. Then, he moved the wad of cloth back, staring unseeingly at his blood-stained hands. The gargoyle made no move to hold the cloth itself now.

Ford held it himself for the moment, trying to think. There had to be some way to help . . . right? Because the way it phrased it's relationship with it's family a few days prior, it hadn't been to good; the exact opposite. In fact, in a way it reminded him to what happened to Stanley . . .getting kicked out and forced away from the only family he had . . . gaining a determined expression, he pressed the makeshift bandage even tighter against the wound.

With his other hand, he gently shook it's shoulder. "Hey, can you hear me?" he asked.

The gargoyle opened it's eyes, shifting only slightly, staring dully at him. "Listen, I want to help, but you need to tell me what I can do. Can you last a little longer?" Ford asked.

The gargoyle didn't respond for several long moments, expression blank. It blinked and something seem to shift in it's eyes, becoming grimly determined, though still weighed heavily by pain. It nodded, once, and pressed it's hands back over the wound, before suddenly shifting and hauling itself upright. It groaned again and lurched to the side, hitting the bars with a muted clang, but remained sitting upright.

" **. . .home . . .tears, _home_  . . .**" the creature rasped, making an obvious effort to remain upright and awake; no,  _alive_.

Ford scrambled to his feet. "Can you walk?" he asked. "And what do you mean by tears?"

The gargoyle struggled to stand, leaning heavily against the bars and hissing in pain. The ground was stained with blood that the rain hadn't washed away. " **. . .magic, special, liquid . . . get to it . . ."**  it tried to take a step, but it's eyes fluttered closed as it groaned again and fell over. The gargoyle stiffened and turned to stone, turning back a moment afterwards with a faint, raspy breath of pain.

Ford crouched again and gently flipped it over onto it's back, scooping up the folded skins and pressing it hard against the wound again. "Can you hold it down while I get some food and bandages?" he demanded urgently. Despite his years on the other side of the portal, he didn't have the heart to kill something that had stumbled across a bad break in it's life. This probably being the second and among the worst, if it's parents were anything to go by.

No response. It's eyes remained closed, but it was still breathing, even though it was shallow. "Dangit, now what?" he mumbled, staring down at his blood-soaked hands. Pressing one harder over the wound, he wiped the other off on his pants best he could and took out a pocket knife. Slicing off one of it's coat sleeves, he managed to turn it into a long, ribbon-like band.

Quickly, he wrapped this tightly around the wound, as tight as he could. It seemed to help; no more blood was coming out than before, though some small tears were starting to fall down the gargoyles face. They certainly looked like tears, anyhow. Standing, Ford rushed inside the house.

"Hey, Poindexter how's your pet do-eee-ing . . .  _what the heck did it do to you_?!" Stanley's jibe was brushed aside the moment he saw the blood.

Ford paused, looking up and seeing the absolutely livid expression on his face, hands trembling. And the fear in his eyes, fear his brother was hurt. He wiped the blood on his pants. "Nothing, I injured it. Do we have any meat in the house?" Ford started rifling through the fridge, then freezer.

"Stanford, what the heck happened?" Lee pressed, going to stand next to his brother.

"I shot it a few days ago, remember? It was a misunderstanding; it wasn't trying to hurt us, but my reflexes took over . . . it's hurt pretty bad and has been bleeding out the last four days. It needs food and something to help stem the bleeding so I can figure something else out."

Stanley quirked an eyebrow, even as he moved to grab the first-aid kit. "What made you suddenly decide to help it?" was all he asked.

"I . . ." Ford paused, in the act of pulling a frozen steak from the freezer. He sighed. "Well, it told me about it's parents when it first woke up. How they . . .basically attacked and abandoned him when he was young. I . . .I couldn't just. . ."

Stanley eyed him. "That's the first time you called the creature a 'he', rather than an 'it' like the past few days." it was clear in his tone. Both were thinking back to when Stanley was kicked out of his home forty years ago. Both knew it, even if they wouldn't acknowledge it.

Suddenly, there was a sound like thunder; but more bellow-y, accompanied by another sound the grated on their ears; as if someone put gravel and glass shards into a blender and hit puree. And it Never.  _Ever_.  _ **Broke**_.

Other than the blender-like addition and volume, Ford recognized the sound. So did Mabel. The gargoyles roar was unmistakable. Though the unwanted, newer sound to the mix was unknown; both new and no known reason for it to be there.

It cut off as suddenly as it began, echoing throughout the forest and reaching the edges of town. As close as the two elderly men were to it, it seemed to rattle inside their chests. They both dropped whatever they were holding and covered their ears. Cautiously removing their hands, they both gave eachother wide-eyed looks. Turning, Stanford ran back outside.

It was dark, and at first, he couldn't see the cause of all the noise. Then sandy-gold eyes blinked open in the darkness, staring at him. Stanley was suddenly beside him with a flashlight. Within it's beam, it revealed the gargoyle, hunched over and wings spread as far as they could go in the cage, pressing against the sides to brace it.

It's tail swished back and forth, and it kept glancing out into the forest. The wad of blood-stained animal skins had been shredded and strewn across the ground in front of the cage, but as the gargoyle sat back on it's haunches and looked up at the two, squinting in the light, Ford could see no fresh blood falling from the hole. The old blood was already starting to encrust over him and the cage.

Small glass shards were littering the bottom of the cage. Claw marks surrounding the grass formed bloody pawprints of some other creature, and some feathers were mixed with fresher blood outside.

The cage door was open. Wide open, yet the gargoyle didn't move a muscle. Just stared at them apprehensively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel bad whenever I hurt characters, especially my Oc's. Maybe that's why this is so hard to write? Okay, I'm gonna ask for a hand here, guys and gals.
> 
> Could you please give me your prediction as to how this ends in your comment? Given everything you've read this chapter and what you know of the Stan twins so far?
> 
> It'd be a huge help, I swear and-NOT AGAIN?! *runs out of hiding place, fleeing angry mob* Please send comments, ideas- *dodges fireball* AND SOME HELP!? AAAHHHH!?

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story I've been working on for awhile. Got a couple of chapters written up and more to come. Gonna put this out here and see how it goes. Please send a comment telling me what you think! I'm all good with constructive criticism. Thanks y'all!


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